Stories on the Go: 101 Very Short Stories by 101 Authors

by Hugh Howey

  His father had then served his errant son with a restraining order and cut off his monthly $3,000 check, a check that had been my father’s sole source of income for years. (He had never wanted to go to work, just live off his rich Dad.) Now my bastard of a father was out to sell all we had in order to finance his dysfunctional lifestyle.

  He reached for the necklace. I yanked it away, pointed my finger at him. “I refuse to bend this time. You stole Mom’s inheritance from Grandma, and that was enough of a humiliation for her. I will not let you steal anything else that is hers.”

  “It’s not just her stuff I’m selling!” Dad shouted. “I pawned my video camera, remember?”

  “Oh sure, like that sure was a big fancy heirloom.”

  “Dirk, that necklace would…”

  “Would what?!” I asked, cutting him off. “What could you expect to get from this? I can tell you it wouldn’t be eleven thousand bucks. It would be more like, what, one thousand at the most? How soon will you go and waste that money, Dad?”

  “You give me that necklace or I’m going to hit you!” he shouted at me, his eyes glowing with hate.

  “John, no!” my Mom cried.

  “Knock it off, Dad!” my brother shouted.

  “So now it’s threats, huh?” I shot back. “Go ahead and carry it out then, big mouth. Do it."

  He hesitated, looked around us. We were alone except for passing auto traffic over on Lyndale.

  “Come on you abusive bully, do it!” I shouted. I was sick and tired of being abused out of sight of the world. If he was going to lay into me, this time he had to either do it right here or shut the fuck up.

  “You are a liar, Dirk. I have not ever abused anybody in this family.” he lied.

  I laughed. “You are the liar, you fat fuck; you’ve abused us for eons.”

  The hatred in my father’s eyes burned brighter.

  “Want Mom to show you all the bruises you…” I began to say.

  “Look out!” My brother shouted.

  “John!” Mom cried in horror.

  But I had already spotted his incoming punch.

  I blocked it, and then kicked him in the nuts.

  He gasped out loud as he tumbled to the asphalt.

  Nobody else made a sound.

  I went and joined my family. “Let’s get out of here,” I said as I got in.

  Mom wiped her eyes, slipped from the front passenger seat to the driver’s, and started the engine.

  Dad just lay there whimpering as he clutched his groin.

  I held up the necklace as we drove away. “This belongs to Mom, not you, you bastard!” I shouted as we drove off. End tableau, end my parents' twisted marriage, and end the miserable agony he was putting us through. And all because of the showdown I had with him on Lyndale Avenue.

  Tony Held

  originally wanted to grow up to be a railroad engineer. By the time he was thirteen, however, his love for books inspired him to switch his career goal to that of a writer of both fiction and non-fiction. By the time he was in his twenties, he decided to branch out into freelance editing so he could help out other writers. Today he works in both fields of literature.

  Showdown on Lyndale Avenuewas originally published December 3rd, 2013, in Bubblews.com’s "Art" category.

  Tony Held’s Website

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  Science Fiction — Cyberpunk

  Workplace Hazards

  Allan Körbes

  When I first saw her she was leaning against the wall of payphones at the end of the bar. She had the coil cord plugged into her computer, like most people there, and it was fun to watch her try to stand up and balance it against her hip and thighs at the same time.

  I stood in the crowd, invisible, amidst the stench of sweat and the flickering lights, until she was done with her computer and sat down. It was good that she sat at a table. I hate chatting at the counter.

  “Good evening, Laura,” I said, taking a seat in front of her so boldly and confidently that she never suspected how out of place I was.

  She eyed me up and down. I was well dressed, I looked healthy, I had the eyes of a serious, determined person. And I was present, right there, looking back at her as she looked into me. She let her guard down right quick.

  “Good evening yourself, mister… ?”

  God. Her voice sounded even better than she looked.

  “Weedwhacker.”

  Had the bartender not been late by a few seconds, I’m sure she would’ve snorted her vodka right out of her nose.

  I had to smile at her laugh. It was so kind. Her whole being was that kind. I had known her for five seconds and I knew already.

  “It’s literal. I grew up in the fields,” I explained.

  “Well, didn’t we all. And what brings you to…” she paused to point at the neon sign, “…the Blue Lobster Bar tonight?”

  “Work. I used to be police, but now the military has reeled me in.”

  “Ohhh! Looking for someone special?” she asked, making the gesture of a firing gun.

  “Very. Very special.”

  She stared with hesitation at my mysterious smile.

  “I’m not getting in the way of your searching, am I, officer?” she asked, suddenly serious.

  I leaned closer.

  “To be honest, I did just find the person I’m looking for,” I whispered, “and I bet she looks even prettier when she’s confused.”

  She did.

  “How did you know my name?” she said, scared, leaning back and trying to sneak a hand into her jacket.

  I showed my palms and smiled.

  “It’s hanging out of your backpack.”

  She looked. Her ID really was hanging out of her backpack from a strap.

  “I hope you don’t mind my daring,” I added.

  She frowned and thought. Her hand slid out of her jacket very slowly. Yeah, Laura, like I can’t see you were about to shoot me.

  “Oh. So you were… And you sat there… You’re actually just hitting on me?”

  “I wouldn’t say just hitting on you. It took me quite a bit of courage to. But yeah, I am. Was.”

  She blushed.

  “So you’re not really a cop?” she asked, trying to smile.

  “No, no, I am. Well, technically I’m military now. But that only makes me boring, nothing else. I’m not here to arrest anybody. Just trying to have a good time, is all.”

  I leaned close again.

  “And to be honest, I’d really like to go back to hitting on you.”

  She smiled that glorious smile of hers, and leaned back — comfortably, this time — and then laughed that laughter we all do when a friend we love pulls a scare on us. Still scary, but fun too. Not that we were friends, mind you, but I’d like to believe we would be.

  After that she really loosened up. I ordered us some more drinks, and we drank and talked and laughed and conspired all night.

  She talked of her job at the hospital, of her siblings, of how she burned her first apartment down by accident once, of her teenage misdeeds.

  She was smart and funny and damn good-looking and had that whole aura of kindness around her. Like whatever I could tell her I did, she would understand. Not that I told her anything that would warrant understanding. I would never. And it made me depressed as hell.

  By the end of the night I had a serious case of the blues.

  “‘I suppose you won’t be needing a drink,’ the bartender said.” She was talking about some movie. “And then the naked lady says… Boom! He falls off the ceiling and we never hear the end of the joke!"

  “Damn. Now that’s disconcerting,” I replied. “What a brilliant setup for a joke that never finished. It’s almost titillating.” I had seen the movie, of course, but I let her tell the story anyway. Everything sounded better in her voice.

  She noticed my blues.

  “Are you OK, Whack? The more I make you laugh, the sadder you get.”
r />   "Yeah, yeah. I just got too much work shit on my mind.”

  “You know, you never really told me what you do.”

  I paused.

  My eyes got wet. I didn’t hold it back. She was holding-to-the-table drunk anyway, she wouldn’t make sense of things at this stage.

  “You know, Laura, there was a point tonight when I almost asked you to marry me, right then and… here.”

  She smiled the sun at me.

  “Well why didn’t you?”

  “Ah, you know, work stuff. But the intention was true.”

  “Work stuff? What intention?!”

  “Yeah. I know it’s sudden, Laura, but…" Honesty, here we go. “I really did love you. It was short, but it was true.”

  She looked puzzled. That cute confused look of hers.

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  I took something out of my left jacket pocket, under the table, and screwed it onto something I took out of my right pocket.

  “I just want you to know, Laura,” I said, my voice breaking up. “That I really loved you.”

  She frowned.

  “Okay, but… what’s that gotta do with work stuff?”

  Last words.

  “I’m a contract killer.”

  She tried to open her mouth to say something. Too late. Two shots to the chest and she fell over, silent.

  I put my badge on and walked out.

  Another job well done.

  Allan Körbes

  first developed his love for great stories by carefully checking every item on the family’s video rental business — incidentally, that’s how he taught himself English. Growing up a single child whose parents moved around a lot, he soon developed a habit of imagining and conceiving the weirdest kinds of worlds and happenings.

  Before making the jump to full-time fiction writing, Allan worked as a computer programmer, restaurant manager, and spent a few years learning and working as a professional classical violinist.

  Allan lives in Florianópolis, a little paradise island in the southern part of Brazil, with his wife and cats. He spends his nights making up crazy stuff across the glass from his laboratory, where his home-built, computer-controlled cutting machine squints at him, planning and calculating for world domination.

  Allan Körbes’s Website

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  Action/Adventure — Fantasy — Science-Fiction

  Into the Ether

  Tiffany Cherney

  The stones bit into Rei’s hands as she struggled up the desolate cliffside overlooking their target. Glancing over, she saw the shaggy head of her partner in this operation, Yeke, as he pulled himself to the top and started planning their next moves. The wind whipped past them, making her resent the rough, thin clothing she had on to blend in with the people of this world.

  “It there?” she asked through chattering teeth as she struggled to draw even with him.

  “Oh yeah.” He reached down and lifted her up by the back of her dress with ease while keeping his eyes on the sight before them.

  Rei scowled as her legs hit a flat edge, embarrassed at the continued weakness her scarred limbs still had. Yanking herself out of his grip, she took in the target with wide eyes. The ship towered overhead and the blueprints didn’t do it justice. It was large enough to hold a decent-sized city comfortably. Rei shuddered at thinking what it would do if fully operational and in the wrong hands. Luckily, they were here to take it off those hands. “Doesn’t look like they’re bothering to guard it that well,” she whispered.

  Yeke laughed and waved a hand at the landscape. “Look around. Do they really need to, given this hellhole?”

  “You ready?” Rei asked.

  “Whenever you are, newbie.”

  “Why the hell did I find myself attracted to you?” Rei muttered as they climbed over the peak and down the opposite side.

  “You find my charm irresistible,” Yeke replied, pulling out a gun that instantly emitted a low red glow as they reached about halfway down. Reaching again to his side holster, he removed an extended barrel and busied himself with attaching it, crouching to keep out of sight. “You go down and get ready to run when I take them out.”

  Rei nodded and crept away, moving with stiff ease from rock to rock. Near the bottom she waited out of sight, closing her eyes to gather her energy — her Eiha. A hand reached for her gun where it rested on her thigh as Yeke’s first shots flew overhead toward the guards as orbs of red light. Rei ducked further behind the rocks as a few return shots came close to hitting where she waited. For a second she was tempted to join the fight, but decided to wait and get ready to run. At last there was a break in the firefight and she could hear Yeke sliding down toward her, occasionally firing.

  Rei pushed off the rock with her gun in hand, starting across the spans between ship and rocks. A few stray shots flew toward the cliff, echoing across the barren landscape. Rei skidded to a stop near the rear of the ship, jamming her hand into the door controls only to find them refusing to budge. Saving time, she allowed her Eiha to flow freely into the mechanism and short circuit it. The door slid open easily and Rei slipped inside, moving to the nearest staircase and beginning her many-deck climb to the bridge.

  Several levels up, she peeked around the doorway, only to see bullets flying at her. She dodged back behind the wall and released the safety of her gun, allowing her Eiha to flow into it. She reached out to sense the five soldiers as they advanced on her, pausing to reload their weapons as they did so. Rei darted into the open doorway and let loose a volley of blue pulses, striking each one. Satisfied no more were coming, she climbed another few levels until she reached a closed hatch. Quickly, she reached over to short-circuit the door controls again when a few red pulses whizzed past her, striking the door and melting a hole clean through it.

  “Now you show up,” Rei said as she saw who it was. Turning back to the damaged door, she frowned. “Careful, Yeke. We want a ship to take away from this planet.”

  “Caution is overrated; it’s only a matter of time before they get back up.” Yeke poked his head through the door. “Besides, you’re the one who burned out one of the hanger doors. Come on.”

  They walked down a hallway enclosed in a clear, glass-like material high above the main areas of the ship. Several men rushed out of the hatch ahead, firing at them. Yeke shoved Rei down to the ground, covering her with his own body. For a moment the fire stopped, and Rei felt a hot, sticky trickle fall on her shoulder. Lifting her face, she saw Yeke’s eyes close against the pain and felt him slump forward. “Damn you,” she hissed.

  “So you returned,” one of the soldiers said. “I didn’t expect you to come willingly back into our grasp.”

  Rei stood and her eyes glowed blue as her Eiha took over her entire form, running down her scars and coming off her body in waves. She reached out. “I don’t think so.” A burst of energy threw them to the ground while pulling their weapons away toward the pair. She looked back at Yeke, Eiha still flowing. “You okay?”

  “Been better,” he groaned, looking down at the ground below. “There’s more coming.”

  “Get this ship airborne,” she said. “I’ll take care of them.” She lifted a hand and strode from the hall with the soldiers' bodies trailing behind her. She felt the ship’s engines engage as she found the nearest escape pods; using her power she stuffed them inside one and jettisoned it. Turning, she watched the sky turn to blackness dotted with stars as the ship known as The Power flew them to safety.

  Tiffany Cherney

  is a life long lover of books, a love that eventually led to her writing her own ideas down and sharing them with the world. She is also a lover and active seeker of things of the geeky variety. She lives in Michigan with her husband, son and two other “kids” that just happen to be furry and have four legs. When she’s not living in worlds of fantasy, she’s pounding the books as she finishes her Bachelor’s in International Relations and prep
ares to undertake the task of graduate school. Currently she is working on future books in her fantasy series, Birthright Secrets, as well as other projects.

  Tiffany Cherney’s Website

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  Science Fiction — Post Apocalyptic

  Live Without Them

  Landon Porter

  Solomon came to my wadi and woke me himself with the news: Another bore-wurm was dead.

  It was the third in two weeks, when one hadn’t died in six months previously. Down to four healthy adults and none of the juveniles anywhere near trained, we were going to need a miracle to get the second well sunk before the freeze.

  The only blessing was that they’d held off on dying until after we needed them to aerate the south fields.

  Actually, I’m lying. It’s selfish to bemoan the loss of the bore-wurms because it meant that things were getting better after a fashion. The bore-wurms were among the most hearty of them. The things that nearly killed us all.

  I’ve never seen a skitterer or a saw-mouth alive, but I’ve helped protect the goats from cabras and lashfangs since I was eleven. There haven’t been any sightings of one of those alive in weeks. Occasionally a hunting party brings one of those or a drover back, reporting that they’re moving more slowly, having trouble breathing.

  Solomon thinks they’re dying out, that wherever they came from was like Earth, but not enough like Earth to make sure their future generations survived.

  That’s a bit of hope for our future generations, but right now they might not even see birth if we don’t sink that well.

  It’s all falling on me because my mother and father took that responsibility long before I was born, in the thick of the violent first onslaught of the monsters Solomon calls xenofauna. Everyone thinks I must have inherited something from them that makes me the one to make these decisions.